


An Outlet

by thedarlingone (Curuchamion)



Category: Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: (extremely late Kinktober), Desperation, Fellatio, I accidentally dared myself okay, Kinktober 2018, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Open Relationships, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Service Kink, Urolagnia, Urophagia, Watersports, Wes is subby as hell okay, peeing, piss drinking, references to Tycho/Winter and Wes/Hobbie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curuchamion/pseuds/thedarlingone
Summary: Wes and Tycho are chained up in a basement without access to a 'fresher. Things escalate from there.(aka the watersports PWP absolutely nobody asked for)





	An Outlet

**Author's Note:**

> So @icandrawamoth and I were talking about Kinktober several months ago, and she mentioned that she'd been thinking about a scat fic prompt but wasn't sure whether anyone would read it, and me being me, I said "I'll write this watersports fic I've been thinking about if you write the scat fic". So, Kinktober being well over because we are both adults with jobs, we have written them.
> 
> My poor longsuffering beta and sometimes coauthor (not on this), @camshaft22, provided the title and a lot of encouragement despite being thoroughly squicked by the subject matter. *hugs* Sorry, babe.

They've been chained up here for _hours_. The mission was supposed to be quick and simple -- land on this backwater planet, pick up some intel from a Rebel sympathizer, and head out again. Unfortunately, a fanatical _Imperial_ sympathizer spotted them first, one of these old men who pore over wanted posters and dream of catching spies. He stunned them both, and when they woke up they were in his basement, chained to an unfortunately very sturdy metal… apparatus of some sort. Tycho thinks it might be meant for winter heating, possibly. Their captor gave them a little speech about calling the Imperials to come pick them up, then wandered off; they haven't seen him since.

Tycho doesn't really imagine they'll have to deal with actual Imperials showing up -- he suspects the old man calls the Imp fleet at least once a week with similar reports -- and if they're missing for more than a day, Wedge and Hobbie will lead a rescue. Right now, he has a more pressing problem. It's been a very long time since he last used the fresher, and his bladder is achingly full, so heavy behind his cock that he'd swear he can feel it slosh every time he shifts position.

Tycho is leaning half-perched against the metal gadget they're chained to, mostly standing. Wes is sitting on the floor next to him, fidgeting back and forth, his legs pressed together, his hands clenched into fists as he tries not to openly grab his crotch. Tycho knows he shouldn't be enjoying his friend's distress, but Wes needy and fighting for self-control does something to him, always has.

They've been… something to each other for some time now. Something without a name, but Wes gets itchy when he doesn't have somebody tie him up and beat him every so often, so (with Winter's enthusiastic encouragement) Tycho does the honors when Hobbie's in bacta or when Wes wants something Hobbie isn't into, and Wes eagerly reciprocates when Tycho wants something Winter isn't into or when she's away for too long. Winter says it's good for Tycho to have an outlet for all of his desires. He just never expected those desires to include watching Wes Janson try not to piss himself.

"Kriff this," Wes mutters, snapping Tycho out of his thoughts. The basement is littered with the oddments you find in any basement, old lawn chairs and empty drink bottles. Wes stretches out with his free hand -- they're only chained to the metal structure by one hand each, they just haven't been able to break free -- and tries to grab an empty drink bottle that's almost in reach. Tycho feels a little flutter of secret want in his stomach as he realizes what Wes is thinking.

Wes has to strain so hard to reach the bottle that Tycho fears he'll dislocate something, but after a few moments of quiet muttered swearing, he has it. Tycho tenses in anticipation. Some small part of him feels like he should look away and give Wes some privacy, but the rest of him ignores it.

After a moment of fumbling one-handed at his flightsuit's seals, Wes manages to free his cock. He holds the bottle's open mouth to its tip, then shuts his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths, clearly trying to relax enough to let go after holding himself clenched tight for so long.

Impulsively, Tycho reaches out and threads his hand through Wes's dark, curly hair, ruffling it. Wes leans his head back into the touch, and that comforting gesture seems to be what he needs. The tension in his big body relaxes slightly, and the first drops of liquid begin to splatter into the bottle.

Once he manages to start, Wes pisses hard, his breath coming in tense little gasps. Tycho glances down, seeing his strong stream spraying into the bottle, and tries not to think about the strength of Wes's internal muscles, tight and hard around whatever they choose to squeeze. He waits for the stream to stop or falter, but Wes keeps pissing and pissing, an expression of concentration taut on his face. Where the hell did the man _put_ it all? The bottle is a large one, but it's filling fast. Tycho feels his pulse beating harder, imagining how desperately Wes's body must have strained to hold back this flood, how impossibly stretched he must have felt, his bladder pressing on his other organs, demanding all his attention.

Finally, Wes's gasps change to little shuddering moans of relief, and the fierce spray slows to a trickle, then stops. Wes pushes a little more, forcing the last few drops of piss out of himself, then slumps against the structure they're chained to with a long, soft groan. "Kriff, I needed that," he murmurs, mostly to himself. Then he glances up, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Enjoy the show?"

"You're hot when you're needy," Tycho admits easily, fluffing his fingers through Wes's hair. Then he glances down at the bottle, nearly half full of yellow liquid, and decides, _ah, what the hell_. "You going to drink that?" he teases. Whatever Wes's response, it'll be entertaining.

Wes makes a face. "The trouble is it's the same temperature as the inside of my mouth," he explains. "So drinking it just feels sort of flat and unsexy."

Of course Wes has tried it. Of course he has. Tycho tries for a couple of heartbeats to fight his next impulse, then gives in. He unfastens his flightsuit and takes out his own cock, half-hard from "enjoying the show" as Wes put it. Wes moves to hand him the bottle, but Tycho shakes his head.

"Would you drink it from here?" he asks, a mischievous smile of his own curving his lips.

Wes's cock, still hanging out the opening of his flightsuit, actually _jerks_ as it starts to harden, and the eager little groan that escapes Wes's throat leaves no room for doubt. Wes sets the bottle down and scrambles up onto his knees, tilting his head back and opening his mouth wide.

Tycho looks away, needing a moment to relax. He's not nearly as painfully full as Wes must have been, but he has to breathe, think about something else, let his cock soften fully before he'll be able to go.

"Would it help if I shut my eyes?" Wes asks.

"Please," Tycho says. He can't think about what he's going to do, how unreasonably sexy it feels. He focuses on nothing, breathes deep, feels his cock slowly go limp in his hand. Then he looks down, aims, and before he can think too hard, simply goes.

Wes takes his stream without gagging or coughing, throat working fast as he swallows. He keeps his eyes shut, trusting Tycho's aim, sticking the tip of his pink tongue forward a little as he concentrates on taking everything Tycho can give him. His cock is fully hard now, jutting out of his flightsuit, but he doesn't reach for it, his whole being focused on staying still. Tycho knew Wes had a service kink, but if he'd known just how ecstatically Wes would take to being a sapient urinal, he would have asked a long time ago.

Before he knows it, Tycho's bladder is empty. He's almost sorry. Wes opens his eyes and looks up, as if asking why there isn't any more, and Tycho shakes the last few drops off the tip of his cock into Wes's still-open mouth. Wes leans forward and licks the tip, then takes the head of Tycho's cock into his mouth and begins swallowing it down.

"Do you need permission to touch yourself?" Tycho asks gently. Sometimes when Wes is this deep in service mode he won't think to ask for his own needs, his mind utterly subsumed in pleasing whomever he's focused on. 

Wes makes a wordless noise deep in his throat -- Tycho tries not to jerk at the vibration -- then pulls off of Tycho's cock, letting it free off his mouth with a _pop_. "Please," he says, his voice strained.

Tycho nods. "Finish yourself first, then attend to me."

Wes nods in acknowledgment, turns away a little so he won't come on Tycho's boots, then grips his hard cock and begins jerking it fast and hard. Tycho watches his narrow hips buck forward as Wes fucks into his own touch. He knows the firm grip of those big hands so well, and his own cock finishes hardening as Wes shudders and spills, his come spurting onto the floor. 

Once he's done, Wes sinks back, sitting on his heels, and just pants for a few moments from the intensity of his release. "That was _incredibly_ hot, Tycho," he says, looking up. "Thank you."

"It was pretty good for me, too," Tycho remarks mildly, pointedly ignoring his own still-exposed erection. Wes gives him a cheeky grin and shuffles back over on his knees, tucking himself back into his flightsuit.

While Wes sucks him off, Tycho lets himself think about what they just did -- about the rapt expression of concentration on Wes's face as he drank from Tycho's cock, about the needy little noises Wes made, about how much he wants to test the absolute limits of Wes's physical self-control. He caresses the back of Wes's head, letting him know he's getting close, and Wes pulls back a little, flickering his tongue just under the head of Tycho's cock the way he loves to do. Tycho moans, his hips jerking helplessly, fucking Wes's all-too-clever mouth as he comes; Wes takes him easily, licking and sucking and swallowing, cleaning every sticky drop of come off Tycho's softening cock before he tucks it gently back into Tycho's underpants.

"We should do this again," Wes says, grinning up at Tycho.

"Once we get out of here, yes," Tycho says, smiling. Now that they can both think more clearly, they should be able to escape before Wedge and Hobbie have to start looking for them. "We definitely should."


End file.
